Tingling with anticipation

The numbers on my cell phone keypad are beginning to wear from excessive pounding. Post-it notes flood from my purse and are stuck haphazardly on everything from pieces of paper to computer monitors. I've moved my hair appointment and called every vet and expert in town. Tonight, I'll attack the house in a cleaning frenzy. I'll scrub and polish and vacuum and banish every speck of dirt. I'll blow off the lingerie party, ensuring our home is perfect.

Then, I'll lay down to sleep. My toes will be tingling and happiness will be shooting through my veins. My muscles will tense, like right before you step out onto the dance floor or down the aisle of your wedding. My chest will be tight and it will be hard to breathe. I'll be smiling, trying desperately not to squeal out loud with excitement. My eyes will be closed, but my mind will be racing. My arms will be black and blue from pinching myself, to see if maybe I really am dreaming.

And after a few winks of sleep, nothing serious, I'll rise. I'll go through the motions: eating breakfast, working out, taking a bath. Really, my mind can only think of one thing. As I scramble my morning eggs, I'll wonder if tomorrow I'll have two sets of little paws dancing around me. I wonder how I'll dance around the house with two tiny creatures scurrying around my feet. I wonder if tiny pink tongues will lick my nose while I'm doing leg lifts. I wonder what it will be like to have two tiny white bodies curled in my lap, listening to them sigh in their sleep as I write story after story inspired by them.

It could be as soon as tomorrow. Tomorrow, I could possibly have the two things I've been dreaming about for five years. The Pond will have two new members, the Land of the Flowered Bed will have entire new adventures.

As my feet dance with anxiety under my chair, I think about how much things will change. I'm not daft. I know that I'll spend my nights comforting little cries, letting them out, taking them on walks. Our clean floors will have to be mopped more from muddy little foot prints, our couches vacuumed for hair. There will be accidents, disasters and utter mistakes.

But my feet are still dancing, and my heart is still pounding. For as soon as tomorrow afternoon, they might be mine. I might have their warm breath on my cheek, their tiny tails curled around my arm.

But for now, I'm still dreaming. And tingling with anticipation.